Chapter 12
Sheridan allowed him to help her from the buckboard, then grabbed one of her portmanteaus from the back of the wagon, while Wyatt took the other two bags. She followed him up to the porch and just stood there.
He tucked one of the cloth bags under his arm, turned the doorknob and opened the door, allowing her to enter first.
“Hello!” He called out.
In moments, Duke bounded into the parlor, his nails clacking on the hardwood floor. Enthusiastic in his greeting, his tail wagged so fast, his entire back end wiggled. He didn’t jump, but he did emit some happy whining noises as he butted his nose against her hand.
“Hello, Duke.” She complied with his demand that she pet him and tried to rub the soft fur on his head, which was a little difficult as he wouldn’t be still.
“Oh, hello, Sheridan. So nice to see you again.”
She looked up as Delilah, followed by Royce, entered the parlor. “Hello, Mrs. Cabot. Mr. Cabot.”
Delilah scoffed as she wiped her hands on her apron.
“I thought we were on a first name basis.” She smiled just before she noticed the luggage and her gaze immediately flew to her son.
Curiosity settled on her face before she cleared her throat and asked, “Is there something you want to tell us, Wyatt?”
He put the bags down, redness creeping up his face. “Actually, Mama, there’s a lot we have to tell you and Royce, but it’s not what you think.”
Disappointment took her smile, and Sheridan jumped to the conclusion that Delilah thought they’d actually married.
That thought convinced her that maybe they could pull this off and Odette and Aunt Estelle would go back to New Orleans happy—at least as happy as they could be—without her and none the wiser.
“Please sit down so we can explain.” Wyatt gestured to the sofa in front of the fireplace.
Delilah and Royce did as they were asked, though Sheridan could tell they were confused.
“My grandmother and Aunt Estelle are coming to Serenity,” she blurted out once they were seated.
“That’s wonderful,” Royce exclaimed, his face wreathed in smiles. He patted Delilah’s hand, offering comfort because the news wasn’t what either of them had thought.
Sheridan shook her head. “No, it’s not. They’re coming here to take me home.” She took a seat across from them as Wyatt moved to stand behind her chair.
“They wouldn’t, would they? Force you to leave Serenity?” True concern shone from Delilah’s eyes and repeated itself in the expression on her face.
“Yes, they would, but I don’t want to go.
I’m building a life here,” she paused and turned to look at Wyatt.
“And friendships. I didn’t have that before, and I like it.
It’s become important to me. I’ve been shown nothing but kindness since I arrived, despite who and what my mother was.
” She continued, explaining what her life had been like before she came here, the lies that Odette and Aunt Estelle had told her about Josie, and the plan that Wyatt had come up with to keep her here.
“So, are we all in agreement?” Wyatt asked when she finished. “Mama, Royce, do you think you can help us pull off this charade?”
“Yes, of course.” Delilah reached over and clasped her hand. “Whatever you need us to do, dear.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your help.”
“We should put your things away.” Wyatt held out his hand. She grasped it like a life-line, hoping their ruse would succeed.
A few minutes later, he opened the door to his room at the top of the stairs. “This is it. My room. Excuse me, our room.”
Sheridan glanced at the big, four-poster bed in the middle of the room.
It was masculine, like him. Cream-colored wallpaper flecked with tiny blue and gold fleur-de-lis covered the walls.
A patchwork quilt that reminded her of the one on her own bed was folded neatly at the foot.
There were a few pictures on the wall, mostly of—believe it or not—cows with a few horses thrown in.
The entire room even smelled like him, a combination of soap and cloves.
She glanced at him, suddenly apprehensive and unsure. “Will you be staying in here with me?”
“Actually, I’ll sleep in the room next door until your grandmother and aunt arrive and then…uh…” He pointed to the divan under the window. “I’ll sleep there.”
“I would hate for you to give up your bed for me. I’ll sleep on the divan.”
He laughed. “Are we having our first fight as a married couple?”
The comment made her laugh even while blood rushed to her face. “Yes, I believe we are, but I’ll still sleep on the divan.”
“As you wish.” Humor sparkled in his eyes. “I’ll leave you alone to put your things away. And I’ll let you know when dinner is ready.”
“Thank you, Wyatt. For everything. I just hope this will work.”
“It will. You’ll see. Trust me.”
And that was the thing. She did trust him. All those years she’d been told she couldn’t trust a man—any man—and here she was, willing to put her faith in him. It was shocking, but at the same time, it felt right.
She watched him close the door, then turned and faced the big bed. Heat rose to her face as her gaze swept over the patchwork quilt and the heavy, intricately carved posts.
What would it be like to really be married to him? To sleep in that bed beside him each night, his arms around her? To make love with him?
Her face warmed even more. She could feel the heat rising up from her chest and that quivering that tickled her belly made itself known.
“Oh, stop it, Sheridan. Just because he kissed you doesn’t mean he wants marriage. You should know that. You own a brothel!”
She shook her head and started unpacking, but stopped in the middle of removing a sheer nightgown from the portmanteau.
The silky material sliding through her fingers as she remembered his kiss, the feelings the touch of his mouth had elicited within her, and that tickle in her belly grew out of proportion.
Maybe he was.
And maybe, just maybe, she was, too.
Wyatt couldn’t sleep. He tossed. He turned.
He kicked off the covers. He even turned his pillow over, punching the thick stuffing of feathers into place and still, he couldn’t sleep.
It was because of her, in the room next to his.
Hell, even here, in this spare room he never used, he could smell her perfume.
After tossing and turning a little more, he gave up.
Maybe a nice piece of cake and a glass of milk would help.
He rose from his bed, shook his head at the mess he’d made of the blankets, and slipped into a pair of trousers and a shirt.
He struck a match and lit a lamp, adjusting the glass over the wick.
Padding slowly to the door in his bare feet, he made sure he was as quiet as possible.
No sense waking everyone else up just because he couldn’t sleep.
The door creaked as he opened it and he cringed. So much for not waking anyone else. He noticed light spilling from beneath the door to Sheridan’s—his— room. She must be awake as well. Or perhaps, she’d fallen asleep with the lamp still burning.
He listened outside her door, then heard the telltale creak of the floorboards. She wasn’t sleeping. She was pacing.
He smiled. Maybe she’d like a piece of cake and a glass of milk, too. He raised his hand and knocked softly on the wood panel with his knuckle.
The door opened a moment later and she stood there, looking as beautiful as ever, her long blonde hair plaited into a braid, the tail of which lay over her shoulder atop her burgundy robe.
She drew in her breath and her eyes widened as they roamed over him.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Did I wake you?”
He kept his voice low. “You didn’t wake me. I couldn’t sleep.”
“I couldn’t sleep, either. It’s so quiet here.”
He hadn’t thought of that. He was used to the quiet and enjoyed it, but she lived in a parlor house. It was probably never quiet. “Yes, it is.” He held out his hand. “Come with me.”
“Where are we going?”
“The kitchen.”
Her eyes lit up at that. “For some cake? Your mother bakes like a dream.”
He laughed softly. “That she does.”
She slipped her hand in his. He felt the warmth of it tug at his heart as he led her downstairs.
Duke raised his head from his cocoon of blankets beside the stove as they entered the kitchen.
His tail thumped the floor in greeting. Wyatt bent down to give him a pat.
“Sorry, boy. Go back to sleep.” The dog heaved a sigh and laid his muzzle on his outstretched paws, his expressive eyebrows raising and falling, first over one eye then the other.
After a moment, he heaved another sigh and went back to sleep.
Wyatt set the lamp down, then pulled plates from the cupboard and a knife and forks from the drawer, bringing them to the table. He grabbed two glasses while Sheridan opened the icebox and brought out the pitcher of milk. She seated herself at the table and grinned at him.
“I’ve never done this before.”
“Done what?”
“Had a snack in the middle of the night. This is fun. I feel a little like a thief.”
He looked at her, surprised. “You’ve never had a midnight snack?”
She shook her head as she poured milk into their glasses. “Once dinner was done at the school, the kitchen was closed. There were consequences for anyone, teacher or student, who invaded Madame Gerard’s domain. Madame did not like anyone in her kitchen.”
“What about now? I know Mrs. Gallagher runs a tight kitchen, but surely, she wouldn’t mind if you snuck down there for a cookie or something.”
“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind, but it’s not something I would do.”
He frowned, realizing her life was so much different than his. “What about when you were younger, before you went to school?”
She shook her head again. “Sneak down to the kitchen in my grandmother’s house? It just wasn’t done. Grand-mère’s rule.”